


To Forget to Breathe

by MiniDemons



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hopeful/Happy Ending, Keith-Centric, Lack of support system, Lance is Bright and Whole, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, and gives Keith heart attacks, but thats okay because that changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniDemons/pseuds/MiniDemons
Summary: But, Keith returned. Somehow. He returned when others didn't- and maybe it's better that he's the deadman still alive and kicking. He returned to nobody, so nobody else has to be destroyed by whatever else he happens to do. He can just, sit in his tiny apartment and stare at the ceiling and try to forget.





	To Forget to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Because I accidentally deleted 7k words for the second chapter in The Fish and the Lizard and I was irritated so,  
> Vent writing? Kinda? Anyhow
> 
> This is a random thing, absolutely no research was put into this. If you are looking for something realistic, this prolly is not the thing for you. 
> 
> Hoping I was able to pull off what I wanted though. Never the less, if you want to read it, hope you enjoy it!

War is nasty. Nasty and ugly and it kills in ways unthought.

Destroys people that aren't even involved, destroys people that were never supposed to be on the frontline. Destroys the mind, changes people. Makes them not who they were, but something different. Not a good kind of different either.

You get handed a gun, pushed forward. Told good luck as people laugh behind your back because you are just a meat shield. Nothing important, doomed to die one way or another.

You might make it home, might make it back unscathed and you might be able to sleep in your bed for the first time in four years but fate is right. You are dead. Maybe not physically but when you can't sleep, when you jolt at the slightest of sounds, when your hand clutches a dagger and your bleeding but don't notice-

You might as well be dead. Might as well have never returned.

But, Keith returned. Somehow. He returned when others didn't- and maybe it's better that he's the deadman still alive and kicking. He returned to nobody, so nobody else has to be destroyed by whatever else he happens to do. He can just, sit in his tiny apartment and stare at the ceiling and try to forget.

Try to forget the feel of a gun in his hands, of the deafening shouts and screams and the world crashing around on him. Forget the feel of a handle, of this wet slide, and of a boy even younger than he dying- dying- dying-

Forget sawing through a man's arm because it was infected and nasty and they weren't going to be getting help anytime soon. Forget the screams, the cries, the pleads. Forget the evenings spent laughing and crying and bartering with the gods for a different fate. Forget the photos, the families, the stories.

Forget glazed over eyes as they stare endlessly back at him. Judging, hating, blaming.

Forgetting,  
doesn't go well.

He tries though, counts everything he can count and thinks of simpler times.

Thinks of the boy too young to be in a war. The boy with the eyes and the smile and the never ending story of his amazing older brother. Who was elsewhere, fighting a different war.

He remembers stories, of a large family. Of how they were so happy and Keith thinks, it's good. That he didn't come back. That they didn't have to see the broken crying _child_ that screamed in the middle of the night. The child that gave Keith an address because he was scared and he knew, and he was just so scared.

Thinking of simpler times works just as well as forgetting. He lost the slip of paper with the address too.

Not that it'd matter. The numbers, the street, everything was just burned into his mind.

It's been...

A week. Maybe? Maybe more, maybe less. Keith hasn't kept track. He just knows, he's lost weight and has no food- or whatever food he has is rotten. He just, it's something. Time is something and it moves and it feels like a week.

He actually wishes he was back. Only for a second, before he realizes exactly what he's wishing. Then he wishes for nothing but that isn't right either. He's the one who made it out, he shouldn't wish for that. He shouldn't wish for a lot of things.

The address is still burned into his mind.

Sometimes, he thinks of visiting. Thinks of saying he's sorry. Of saying he tried. That their son, brother, that he was brave. Braver than Keith ever was. Sometimes he gets his boots on, grabs his keys- even managed to start his motorcycle once and then-

He's staring at his ceiling again, hand gripped so tightly around the keys that he bleeds.

Keith, is a very pathetic soul he figures. Can't even visit a house. Can't stand how loud his bike is. Can't stand the occasional slam of a door. Can't even sleep right. Might as well be dead, with what he's been doing. He wonders if others do the same, are cut just the same.

He thinks of the man with the bleeding, oozing arm and then the screaming and stuffing a cloth in his mouth and a 'you can do this Shiro'.

He wonders, if he's dead too. Like him or like the boy to young to go to war.

He wonders a lot of things.

He doesn't do any of it though.  
-  
-  
-  
He, somehow, finds himself standing at a door. He walked, keys stuffed in his pockets and he walked. Turned around a few times, but he managed. Managed all that and now he stares and stares. Raises his fist then thinks,

Of all the horrible thoughts he had. How it was a good thing the boy to young for war died instead of returned and his hand drops.

This, this was a bad idea.

The address still burns in his mind. He can still feel the paper and the slickness of blood that's not even his.

He turns around. This was a bad idea.

The door opens anyways and Keith is left standing in front of a door as an older version of the boy too young for war stares at him. He thinks of the amazing older brother that was back home, with his own little war and he thinks that this man, doesn't fit that description. Not the war part. He looks unscathed, full, all put-together.

Keith can't see how this man could have been in a war, been through what he went through, and be okay.

The man goes to say something, probably ask what a stranger was doing looming around his door but-

Keith is gone.

That address burns enough to hurt.  
-  
-  
-  
He moves on. Kind of, not really.

But he can deal. That's all that matters. He can't deal well, but he can deal enough. Enough to have a job. A shitty job at some cafe that's close enough to walk (keys a heavy weight in his pocket that he ignores, ignores, ignores) but a job.

He only does a few hours, the closing hours. Stays as far from people, from noise as possible. Then goes home and counts the bumps on his ceiling over and over and over again and tries not to think.

It,  
works as well as it always does.  
-  
-  
-  
It's... some evening, night. Keith isn't sure when, or what day, or how far away it was from his discharge (doesn't remember the discharge, just the fake smiles and 'good jobs' and 'glad you came back alive') but it's some night that he sees _him_.

Him being the older, unscarred version of boy to young for war.

But not.

Because this one didn't die in his arms. The other one did.

He orders something complicated and fancy and too sweet to be normal. Keith just watches in the back, tries to find something, anything that might indicate war. Something to indicate, not okay. Or dead. Anything, anything to fit with the boy too young for war words.

He just finds a smile, something fresh and new, and warm words that don't fit in with Keith's life.

He feels a hand gripping onto phantom sleeves, feels the weight of someone leaning on him, harsh pants scrape across his skin and he hears everything but nothing.

Older boy too young for war leaves and Keith can breathe again.  
-  
-  
-  
He stares at his motorcycle, fidgets with the keys in his hands because this, this is pathetic. He knows it's pathetic. He's only turned it on once since he's been back. Turned it on then promptly threw himself away from it and let it fall to the ground.

Now he just stares at it, thinks about, walks.

It's a routine though. Before he walks he has to try, has to will himself to do it. To turn the key, start the engine. Has to step forward, move forward-

To be honest, his walks are more like runs. But it feels like walking, he doesn't go anywhere and he can't hear anything and he feels like he's never fast enough.

Maybe his bike would be fast enough? He doesn't think he'll find out though.

Maybe he should sell it. But, at the same time. It's him. He bought it at fifteen, a scrappy thing and fixed it and made it work and kept it.

Then again, that him? Has been dead for a long time.

It'd probably be okay if he killed off the remains too.  
-  
-  
-  
Older boy to young for war becomes a regular, weekly occurrence. Exposure therapy is a real thing, Keith likes to think. After the fourth visit he doesn't really think of him as Older boy too young for war. He's more of Nuisance and Liar.

He's loud, bright. Cheerful. Completely whole, Keith can't find a single scar on him. Can't even find the mourning big brother he expected.

But it's been a year, so maybe that is to be expected.

Doesn't feel like a year to Keith. He feels like it was last week. He thinks it'll always be a 'feels like last week' kind of thing. Doesn't think it'll ever move past that no matter how hard he tries.

Nuisance and Liar is, not who Keith expected. Out of a brother or out of a war victim. He's, Keith can't see the amazing in him. He can see the brightness, the wholeness, the- perfection? Imperfection? Imperfection in a perfect way.

He can't see amazing though. Doesn't think he ever will.

He can breathe though, and maybe his hands still feel slippery and slick and maybe he can still feel a chest heaving desperately against his own but nobody else has to know.  
-  
-  
-  
Lance is a weird name. A weapon, something sharp and deadly that kills. Lance, the human, isn't like that. Keith finds out the name when he's forced to man the register.

He sees blue eyes (too dark, too happy, not white) and a wide smile and then he hears words but doesn't really. The moment passes in an instance, Keith not breathing but no one noticing because-

Who stops breathing in a cafe? Nobody. That's who.

Life continues on, starts moving and Keith can barely keep track of it but he holds on just enough. Just enough to get by, not be noticed, not seem unnatural.

The drink is pressed onto the counter, his voice croaks out the name and for a second,

He's back and it's dark outside and so damn quiet.

Blood has this iron stench to it. It fills the air.

Blue eyes stare at him, a grin, a too loud thanks and then everything shatters and Keith is back. Watching boy to young for war leave (again).

Later he tells himself it was Lance. Lance not the dead boy.  
-  
-  
-  
He stares, counting the bumps on his so familiar ceiling. Wonders if he'll get lucky, if he'll be able to slip into sleep this time.

He doesn't want to though, nightmares claw at his brain, drags him back into things he just wants to forget. Forget, ignore. Not remember.

Eyes slide close for a second, the door of the apartment over his slams closed and it's-

So

Loud.

Keith wants to escape. Thinks, duck.

Run.

Hide.

Thinks, they are coming, the bombers, the army. The grim reaper. He tries, wills his body to move, imagines it-

Can't even draw in a breathe, is suffocating and they are coming.

He's in the war zone all over again. Hears the distant bangs of bombs and guns. Sees the blood splatter across dead grass. Watches the bodies fall.

He stays, immobilized on his bed, unable to breathe as a war flashes behind his eyes.

-  
-  
-  
He reads. Sometimes.

Found a nice little library, tucked away near his apartment and it is just so nice and soft. Quiet. Gentle.

He liked it more than his apartment, but he didn't want to taint it so he only came there sometimes. On his lightest days, when things don't seem so horrible and he thinks there might actually be a chance he could just, forget.

Forget everything.

Books are a good distraction from his reality, helps the illusion of forgetting become just that much easier to believe.

There's a voice, oddly familiar and jarring. Makes thoughts of fantasy adventures disperse like sand in the wind. Has him jumping and looking up to see some bright, shiny smile pointed at him.

It's awkward. Too much trying on one side, too much avoiding on the other.

Keith gave stilted replies, something that would scream 'no, leave me alone' to most. Lance (older version of boy too young for war, believable too. The boy too young for war acted just the same.) just charged through it without a thought.

Keith was quick to depart, mood officially demolished with thoughts of past friendships haunting his every step.  
-  
-  
-  
There's a crash. Something topples, collapses- shatters against the floor.

Sounds like a sharp bang, like bullets through glass. Or a body through glass. Like windows shattering instead of a plate or whatever it was that falls.

Keith ducks, reflexes sharp as every thought in his mind screams danger and war and death. Eyes wide and unseeing- or too seeing.

Because suddenly, he's not safe anymore. He's back in the front line and in a building as bullets rain down on him.

Suddenly breathing just isn't enough, each breathe rattling against his rib cage useless before being released back out. Something that serves no purpose but he can't help trying to draw another breathe in. Like a man drowning.

Which makes no sense, can't drown when you are so far from sea.

He thinks he might pull the impossible, and instead of dying via bullet, he'll die by drowning.

His shoulders itch and burn, he feels blood trailing down them but at the same time everything is just

So

Numb.

He feels like he's running, can see himself run.

Can hear the calls-

The loud noises-

The bangs of guns and glasses and bodies hitting the floor-

The screams-

And then there's a voice, too soft-

Too warm-

And there's a chest pressed against his back and arms are holding him-

He distinctly does not remember this. It doesn't fit with the blood and the guns and the glass-

Breathe, the voice says. Breathe. Other nonsensical words whispered against his ear, too close for comfort and-

He's in a bathroom. On the floor of a bathroom and there's a tan arm around him and he can hear hiccuping breathes echoing and distantly, he realizes that's him. He's making those noises.

Barely, his voice croaks out, a small thanks as his body trembles and shatters in some strangers (boy too young for war-) arms.  
-  
-  
-  
The next time Lance shows up they don't speak of it. Keith doesn't know why it wasn't mentioned by Lance, it seemed to hang over his own head like a noose but, he's thankful.

He doesn't want to face it yet. Shoves it where everything else is, like his motorcycle, or the insomnia, or the loud noises.

Lance gives him a grin before leaving like he was never there.

Keith notices that he left a piece of paper though, and when he picks it up he sees a number scrawled across it.  
-  
-  
-  
Keith can't sleep, well. He can never sleep.

This time he's restless, but he doesn't want to get up. If he gets up, he leaves. If he leaves he ends up staring at his motorcycle that he still can't drag himself to ride. It just, rots outside.

It would kill the previous him, the living one. Now, now it fits. It rots like he rots. Secretly without anyone knowing.

An address burns his mind, a reminder of an old promise that he never kept. Wonders what the boy too young for war would say. What he'd call Keith after waiting so long, after breaking the last promise he ever made.

A different number pops in mind and he finds his phone.

Types it, deletes then-

I'm sorry.

It's all he says, he hopes Lance ignores it. Wishes he could take it back, that it was never sent.  
-  
-  
-  
Lance, does but doesn't ignore it. Does in the way he skipped right over it, doesn't in the way that he replies.

Talking is awkward, but less so than in the library.

Mostly all Lance, and it's easier. Not seeing or hearing him. Keith replies when it fits better, when he can't sleep and the address burns or after he stares at his motorcycle for too long and never manages to start it.

He,

He enjoys it. In a way that he hasn't enjoyed anything in a long time.

Thinks that maybe Lance is a liar and a nuisance whose never gone to war, never had a war, maybe he's too bright and whole but-

Keith wouldn't want him any other way.

For a moment, he can forget.

For a moment, a smile crosses his lips and a laugh chokes in his throat as he stares down at the many texts from an unknown number.  
-  
-  
-  
Food- that's something he has issues with. Doesn't know if his tastebuds went and died after years of chow hall food, years of ready to eat meals and drowning things with ketchup.

He still does that too- the drowning with ketchup.

Grabs the easy, already fixed just slam it in the microwave meals. And the more, easier meals like poptarts.

Avoids the fruits and quick to rot foods, or the foods that take too long to cook. It's been a long time since he cooked, a few months of after boot and before he had his first orders but- not really. Mainly failed experimentations, that's what his past attempts of cooking were.

Lots of burnt things.

He hasn't tried again since, wonders if he ever will.

He's happy to say that he can't blame the war for that though, orphanages don't exactly scream practice cooking. They screamed 'here's some slop, go eat it'. Something like the chow halls did.  
-  
-  
-  
Lance gives too many worried glances. Asks too many questions.

Keith keeps telling him he's fine but the down turn of the smile, the furrowed brows scream that Lance doesn't trust him. Lance doesn't argue though, lets the topic change.

They hang out more than Keith would have originally thought. More because of Lance and his trying than because of Keith. Keith wonders if, because of it, it'd be easier to open his mouth.

Easier to go to that door, knock on it and-

And talk. About the boy too young for war. About the child who died in his arms whilst begging, pleading, mindless babble on how he had so much to live for. On how he couldn't die.

The words burn in a way that the address doesn't. Burns in the vengeful way because of all the people-

It was Keith. Little orphan Keith with nothing left. He made it. He made it and everyone else died. He made it and he thinks it's good, that they were _lucky_ to die and, and-

It takes a few seconds before the words turn and his chest goes tight because that's just horrible. He's just horrible and- he can't do this. Not now, not with dark blue eyes watching him lie through gritted teeth. Lance will only let him get away with so much.

And Lance with his dark eyes is so much more observant than his younger. Catches on the cringes and the forced inhales and shattering exhales. Lance with his soft warm voice just,

Talks. About nothing, everything.

Something calm and distracting. Something for Keith to latch on that doesn't yell dark and dangerous at him.

Something that turns into a friend, who got back from the war. A friend whose still trying to adjust and how the two, are similar. In a way.

Something that turns into a website scrawled out on paper and pressed towards Keith.  
-  
-  
-  
He wonders if he can burn a different number in his head. Something to replace the address on that tiny piece of paper and the broken words asking for a promise.

He thinks the number of bumps on his ceiling should do the trick. But it always changes.

Maybe if he got the exact number twice he'd remember it. Maybe it'd replace the address.

Maybe.  
-  
-  
-  
He screams.

It's choked and he tries to shove it down as soon as he realizes that, that noise is _him_. Doesn't stop the trembling or the sobs wrecking his frame. He doesn't know if anything can stop those, doesn't know if they ever do stop or if he's just gotten really well at hiding it.

Keith forces himself out of bed, knows he won't catch anymore sleep.

Knows if he closes his eyes all that will meet him is a sea of crimson.

Wonders out, into the living room. Empty and sparse but, not his room.

Not something that prods at him, that whispers exactly why he woke up.

Makes it easier to ignore if he doesn't get reminded. Doesn't make it easier to forget though. Stays there, at the back of his mind and he wants-

Needs-

A distraction. Anything. Something. A piece of paper catches his eyes, the website Lance gave him a week ago.

That, he decides, is better than nothing.

Doesn't know what to expect. It's called Voltron and honestly, he's pretty sure it's some stupid RPG thing. An easy distraction, mind numbing. Something to do until the hour becomes nicer.

It's not.

An RPG thing, that is. First thing he sees is forums, the very first one listed-

**Can't decide whats worse. The nightmares or the war.**

And, there's something horrible in Keith. A morbid curiosity, a need to know things. Even if they hurt him he just, can't help himself.

He's not forgetting, no- everything is right in front of him as he clicks stray links. Reads like a starved man eats at a feast. Eyes dart everywhere and he can't even breathe.

There's something about anonymity, hiding behind a fake name that lets people be truthfully, painfully honest.

He doesn't stop until he comes across a name.

A name he's wanted to forget since he heard the man scream.

Takashi Shirogane.  
-  
-  
-  
There are some people where, no matter how you are communicating, they are just so, so

Easy. To read, to speak to. Open about everything. Straightforward in the best of ways. Where they wear what they feel, what they think on their skin for anyone to see. Lance, Lance was one of those people. Impossibly open and bright, taking everything to the extremes be it excitement for a new game or disappointment because he got rejected (again).

Even in text, he had this way of just, sharing. Something boy too young for war didn't have. Keith couldn't help but wonder if it was a family thing that the boy missed out on or if it was just... Lance. He was pretty sure it was just Lance though.

A laugh escapes him looking at the latest complaint of Pidge hogging all the food and no one believing him that she is a tiny little gremlin that should be exorcised immediately.

To be honest, Keith didn't believe him either.  
-  
-  
-  
The first time Lance went to Keith's place he got distracted by the motorcycle. Started buzzing about how awesome it'd be to own one or even ride one. To which Keith had offhandedly mentioned that was his motorcycle and,

Immediate regret is a thing. Keith can now say he experienced the dread pulling into his stomach the second those too dark eyes widened and dazzled, mouth opening and-

Let it be said, Lance talks too much. Babbles about everything that comes to his mind and okay, sometimes Keith finds it endearing. Something to smile about or it gets him too chuckle. Something nice to hang out to, keeps him grounded. Lance has a pleasant voice too, something that Keith could fall asleep to. But, this is one of those times where he'd do anything to get Lance to shut up.

Especially when Lance asks him why he walks everywhere instead of riding his beautiful, 'fits your bad boy image and everything' bike. Keith snaps out that it doesn't start and that's the end of it. A whine from Lance before he gives this sigh and goes off about something else.

And no, Keith did not lie. Maybe it is in perfectly good condition, but it doesn't start either.

Need to turn the key to get it to start after all.

Keith can never turn that key.  
-  
-  
-  
He's on that site again, an hour or so before work. Not because of memories or nightmares or insomnia or anything he just-

Whenever he's alone, in his own head he can't stop thinking about that name.

Remembers something stupid Lance said, about him needing more friends and-

He remembered, he liked Shiro. Shiro was this awesome older boy, adult, something. Calm, nice. Listened to everyone. Went with the whole 'no man left behind' mentality. They bonded in the middle of the night looking up at the stars. Shiro, Shiro was always this comforting presence that was always there. New orders for Keith and Shiro got discharged for his new disability (and Keith could feel the rough vibrations of sawing through meat and bone-) and, well. Keith never heard from the man again.

Keith, he honestly wouldn't mind having that presence back. Craves it, actually.

Someone else who understands, who was there. Someone that was probably worse off than he. But, maybe not. Shiro had parents after all. Even if he did lose his arm.

He clicks on the email button, chews on his lip. Maybe he shouldn't? What's he going to say anyways? Hey, remember that kid that sawed off your arm way back when? Yeah that's me. How's it going being one armed? Any nightmares?

Ha. This, was a bad idea. He's going to exit before Lance's voice is mocking at him and, what the hell.

He has nothing to lose.

He types out a quick, hey how have you been? Sends it, then slams his laptop close.  
-  
-  
-  
Sometimes, when he can't breathe and it's too dark and the memories are too much-

Sometimes his finger presses against the call button and it's some ungodly hour in the night, 3 am or something. Sometime where Lance should be sleeping, and Keith should be sleeping. Where Keith shouldn't be calling but he remembers Lance telling him to call him whenever. If things get to be too much (dark eyes twinkle knowingly and there is yet another difference-) to just, call him. No matter the hour.

The first time it happened, Keith hung up after the second ring, feeling ridiculous and stupid. Lance called him back a few moments later.

Over the phone, Lance's voice is just as comforting, easy to latch on. Even sleep deprived and rough around the edges in brings Keith down and away from all stray thoughts.

It is something Keith could never find in a war. Something unlike the boy too young for war's voice, which was soft but- mature. Dark in a certain away. Boy too young for war saw things, knew things, experienced things.

Not Lance though. He was untouched, his voice this perfect symphony of bright, soft, childish.

Safe.

Lance will babble on and on until Keith can breathe. Breathe and think of things other than the war and it ends with a soft thanks from Keith and a yawned, anytime from Lance.

Keith never tries to go back to sleep. And he only calls sometime, only for the worst times but,

It's okay.  
-  
-  
-  
When he stops avoiding the site, checks again with a timidity unlike himself he sees a reply.

And he's scared. Because, should he have done that? What if he ruined whatever good thing Shiro had going for him? What if Shiro hates him?

Not that he'd blame the man. He thinks he'd hate himself too if he sawed off his arm.

Shiro got discharged because of him after all. Disabled veteran. Forever marked by the war in the worst way possibly.

He prepares for the worst, chokes down inhales like they are going out of style and shoulders too stiff to be natural.

He clicks and-

Shiro is perfectly polite, just as kind as he remembers. Gentle questions of familiarity and Keith feels this warmth bubbling up because,

Maybe this wasn't a bad idea. Maybe Lance was right (not that he'd ever tell Lance that).

He's quick to type out a response.

He feels lighter than he has in a long time as he clicks the send button.  
-  
-  
-  
He's staring at that door again. About ready to knock and it feels like the first time.

He's not ready. Everything chokes him and he's about ready to bolt. The address burns and he tries to ignore, ignore, ignore. He's not here for that, it shouldn't matter but-

How it burns. How it screams at him and he wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere.

The door swings open, like they just know when he's standing in front of the door. There is some tiny girl, child, standing there with these wide eyes in an angelic face.

Pidge, apparently is an adorable small little thing with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. She seems to be more from a war zone than Lance ever has been. She's got this cunning to her, this dark humor and blunt words and, Keith can't help but see something in her.

Similar. People alike. He saw a younger him in her bitter eyes.

And then, there is Hunk. Master chef with the big body and a smile just as warm, just as bright as Lance's. But his eyes, eyes were a different story. Dark, haunted, caged.

Keith remembered a story Lance told him. About a friend of his who came back from the war. And he thinks,

Oh.  
-  
-  
-  
Lance thinks Keith is lonely. Or that he should be lonely. He pauses, hanging upside down on Keith's couch before he scrambles up apologizing and flailing and going, that's not what he meant.

Keith isn't exactly sure what he meant but he simply gives a nod. Hoping to drop the topic, go elsewhere. But Lance?

If Lance can do anything, it is doing the exact opposite of what Keith wants.

He says that the apartment is just, so lonely. Blank. Empty.

He says Keith should get a pet, or something. Something to liven the place up.

Says it is no wonder Keith can't sleep. Lance wouldn't be able to either in this place.

When Lance leaves, Keith can't help but notice how quiet and dead his apartment is.

How lonely it is.

It isn't home anymore and,

Keith escapes it, avoids the place with the deafening silence that is too similar to what he thought death would be like.  
-  
-  
-  
Keith fiddles with his phone. With the page he has pulled up and the words written on it,

Selling his bike.

He's been thinking about it. Still can't start it no matter how hard he tries.

He's talked to Shiro about it. Nervous little mentions before flat out saying, he's been thinking of getting rid of it. It is just sitting outside his apartment, rotting. Only serves as a reminder on what Keith can't even do anymore.

Serves as a reminder that he's rotting too, even if on some days he doesn't feel like it.

Shiro told him people change. People change and that it is okay. He shouldn't expect to be the exact same person he was before. If he thinks it is the best thing, to sell it.

Shiro just, he says it is okay. And Keith believes him, can pull himself together to type out the message, the sales pitch but he just-

He can't click submit.

Can't sell the one thing that screamed Keith.

Shiro says that is okay too.  
-  
-  
-  
Keith is standing, awkwardly, in an animal shelter. He shifts from foot to foot.

Feels stupid for even considering this. Lance said it as a joke and here he is, actually considering it. But the apartment is so silent, so dead.

He's always realized it, when counting the bumps on his ceiling but-

It is just, worse now. Now that he has had someone else there. Someone else filling the space.

He visits the dogs first, too noisy, too smelly, too much attention.

Keith can't even take care of himself. How is he supposed to take care of a dog?

Last stop before he planned on giving up was the cats and-

There was this old scrawny burgundy colored cat in a corner. Staring with these amber eyes and-

He named her Red. Uncreative and sure- she wasn't loud but,

He wasn't alone anymore.  
-  
-  
-  
Lance drags Keith to the ocean, says that Keith should relax and the best way to relax is to go swimming.

Keith isn't sure how to tell the bright boy that he can't swim. Not when he is so bright and whole with this grin that is just,

Horribly contagious.

Lance rips off his shirt once they get to the beach, tan skin sparkling in the dipping sun. Keith can't help but notice the scar. Large, right on the torso and it rips across the tan flesh without mercy.

Keith wants to reach out, kiss it. Smooth his hands over it. Feel the difference between scarred flesh and the unmarked flesh around it. Wants to know the story behind it.

Suddenly, Lance isn't so bright and whole and perfect. Not untouched and innocent and naive. He's still so horribly bright, but now he shares a darkness with the boy too young for war. Now it is obvious he has been touched by war, maybe a different kind of war but a war all the same.

Suddenly, he is this bright, wonderful person who has been through things. Experienced things and he-

Surpassed them. Became human and whole again and Keith?

Keith thinks he can see it now. The amazing boy too young for war's brother. Because Lance?

Amazing.  
-  
-  
-  
Pidge is Keith's favorite of the group. They can sit in silence and it's,

Not awkward. Not stifling. Neither try to break it, just work right next to each other.

The quiet isn't lonely or dark and Pidge understands. Doesn't fret over Keith if there is a moment when he can't breathe anymore, or if he jumps because a noise was too loud. Doesn't try to get Keith to talk about anything they just,

Pidge is just there. This comforting presence that makes it seem like everything is okay.

A presence that says he isn't alone.  
-  
-  
-  
They get into an argument. Keith and Lance. About,

War.

Therapy to be exact.

Everything breaks, shatters, the floodgates are open and Lance can't stop. Keith can't stop either, even as everything is crashing around him and he can't hear anything as the blood rushes, adrenaline pumping and-

Keith is scared, scared and he wants out, out, out. To get away. Go somewhere safe and Lance is saying he's not okay, he's not okay.

Keith can't breathe as he pushes away- out, out , out-

Past his motorcycle that works but can't start and-

He runs. Runs and gasps and can't breathe or see, all he knows is he needs to get away.

The argument started because Lance knocked something over, it crashed and-

It ends with Keith gone, gone, gone.  
-  
-  
-  
He's got calls. And texts. Lots of them. Lots of voicemails. He listens to Lances first.

They start angry, then go to worried, concerned. Ending in frantic, scared.

Lance begs just like the boy too young for war begs and Keith,

He can't handle that similarity. He throws his phone across the room and hides on the other side of the hotel room. As if that will keep it away, keep the voices from merging and maybe, maybe Keith isn't okay.

Because instead of boy too young for war dying in his arms he sees, hears, feels Lance dying there instead. Breathing is harder and he's hiccuping and he needs-

Needs-

Shaky fingers type out a message and he clicks send as his body convulses and words echo in his ears that he wished he never heard.  
-  
-  
-  
Shiro has a fiancé, and she's bright. In the way Lance was. Bright and soft and kind.

They fit eachother, Keith can see it in the soft looks. He's, happy.

For them. That Shiro wasn't alone. A twisted part of him wonders though,

Did Shiro try to destroy her too? Like Keith is slowly destroying Lance? Or was that just Keith? Was Keith the only one who returns and poisons those close to him? And, that thought scares him.

If he's the only one, maybe it is a good thing he came home to nothing. Maybe he should have kept it that way.

Maybe he shouldn't have come home at all. The boy too young for war deserved it more than him after all.

Keith only stays a little bit, keeps to himself. Just in case he is the poisonous one. He doesn't want to ruin anything else for Shiro.

He already took the man's arm.  
-  
-  
-  
He can't breathe again.

But that's okay. It's an okay not breathing thing. There is a weight on his chest and this rumbling purr and after a while, he can move his hand.

Red's fur is horribly soft despite her old age. Soft and soothing and he can feel tiny little pin pricks as she kneads his chest and,

Yeah. This is an okay not breathing thing. Something soft and warm. Distracting the memories, the thoughts away.

Red feels like a cloud under his fingertips and whilst he might not be able to fall back to sleep it,

It is okay.  
-  
-  
-  
In the ends, it is Pidge that makes them pull their shit together. Shoves them together with a ploy and locked key and yells at them to get it together because their moping is annoying.

It, is awkward. Library levels of awkward, but worse because Lance isn't really trying either.

In the end, it starts with Lance saying he was right but he's sorry and he shouldn't force his opinions on others. It seems like a Hunk influence, not 100% Lance even if he is the one saying it.

Keith, doesn't know what to do. But he does know one thing.

He's missed Lance. Missed the horribly bright boy with the soft voice. Missed the few late phone calls. Missed his endless talking.

Missed everything about Lance.

Hugs are softer, warmer than Keith ever thought they'd be. He all but melts in the bright boys arms.  
-  
-  
-  
Hunk is that awkward friend, the one where you are only friends with them because they come as a package deal with someone else. Not that there is anything wrong with Hunk.

He's wonderful, impulse control to Lance's carelessness and they, fit. Are the perfect match. But Hunk and Keith? Completely different. They don't clash like Lance and Keith or mix like Pidge and Keith.

They stand more at a stand still. Unsure what to do around the other.

But, there are moments. When they are alone and Hunk's hand is horribly warm.

Where Hunk says, if you ever need to talk to someone, he'll be there.

And that is something Keith wants to pick up, because Hunk understands. Hunk was there. Hunk is like Shiro, but better.

After all, Keith didn't saw off Hunk's arm. No guilt there.

Keith never even met the boy in the war zone. Hunk was Airforce to Keith's army.

So, sometimes. When everyone else is busy the two will be in the kitchen sharing hushed whispers, about nothing and everything.

Silly mentions of boot camp, comparisons to life and the different lingo and-

They only mentioned the bright stuff, the happy time.

Keith could smile though. It was.... peaceful.  
-  
-  
-  
Red was in love with Lance. Keith, had mixed feelings about the betrayal.

On one side, it was a beautiful sight. Lance knocked out on his couch giving these hiccupy snores and this small ball of fuzz curled right under his chin. Lance even has a hand curled atop the cat, as if he fell asleep petting her.

On the other hand, Keith woke up alone struggling for breathe and, he liked waking up to the cat on his chest.

Made it seem like he couldn't breathe for a valid reason instead of some stupid reason. Gave him something to ground himself to.

But, he sipped his tea quietly as he watched the two, he honestly doesn't mind this sight.

Would have preferred waking up and seeing it in his bed but, this was okay too.

Gave him an entirely different kind of breathlessness that he was perfectly fine with.

He felt warm, and soft, and light. Like nothing could touch him as Lance snored away on his couch.  
-  
-  
-  
They were sitting outside, on the stairs. Staring at that rotting bike that Keith felt shouldn't be rotting. He didn't feel like rotting anymore so surely, surely the bike shouldn't be rotting either. He still can't bring himself to start it because,

What if- what if-

Lance is talking, in the whisper as they press against each other. For warmth? Warmth and comfort. Or something. Keith doesn't know, but he isn't willing to change it.

Lance is talking about getting the bike fixed, because as good and healthy walking to the cafe may be- he has a bike. Might as well use it. Then those dark eyes glitter (Keith doesn't know how he ever could have compared him to the boy too young for war-) and Lance mentions how once the bike is fixed, Keith should totally take him for a spin.

Off into the sunset. Because it is romantic.

And Keith gives this soft laugh, doesn't realize exactly what Lance was hinting at,

Promises (doesn't think he will be able to keep it, but what is another broken promise?)

And Lance gives this smile,

Leans forward

And-

Soft. Comforting. Warm.

Slow, they don't move, just stay still and enjoy.

Innocent, naive, everything that Keith would never change.  
-  
-  
-  
Pidge is on his couch in tears, hugging a pillow. Keith, isn't sure what to do.

He kind of just wants to plop Red in her lap and leave it at that. But he can't, because this is Pidge. This is the girl that sits with him in the middle of the night to watch conspiracy theories when he can't sleep. The girl who is there when he just, when he needs someone.

The girl that is there when he starts worrying about Lance, because what if this isn't okay? What if he hurts the bright boy who deserves everything and the world and-

And she's crying and Keith doesn't know what to do. So he just stands there, hovering until she calls him stupid and says that he can hug her as she chokes on sobs and hiccups. So Keith hugs her.

Gives the best damn hug he can, that he'd want (that he was given by her, or Lance, or Hunk, or even one-armed Shiro). Hugs her and tries to be soothing.

Tries to crack a joke, get her to smile or something and in return he gets a soft punch to the stomach, a sniffled snicker and a choked out, "Matt's dead, Matt's _dead_ " and Keith thinks,

Oh.

He wonders if death destroys the people back at home as much as someone returning who wasn't who they were before. And looking at the crying girl in his arms, he's pretty sure it does.

He hugs her tighter. Knows that nothing but time will make it better.

(Wonders if this is how Lance was when he found out his baby brother died in the war.)  
-  
-  
-  
After so long of knowing each other Lance is absolutely flabbergasted to discover that Keith can't cook. At all. Goes through Keith's groceries with a face of a disappointed mother before turning dark blue eyes on Keith.

And he rants, complains, pokes and prods at Keith and wondering how the boy is even alive when all he eats is garbage. Keith can't help the smile, the laughter as he half heartedly defends his food choice. Lance doesn't appreciate the defense, rolls his eyes and then claims to make it his mission to teach Keith how to cook.

Lance with his hands on his waist and this adorable little pout is just, Keith can't resist. He darts forward, pecks those pouting lips and just,

Smiles.

Says, okay. Teach me master with laughter ringing in the air and Lance is horribly red and flustered and perfect and just,

Amazing.  
-  
-  
-  
Keith wakes up, breathe caught in his throat and mind turning, turning, turning.

Everything is too loud, too quiet and then-

He hears a snore, broken in half by a hiccup or something. Feels breathe against the back of his neck, feels an arm around his waist and when he's thinking-

A ball of fuzz, right under his chin. Not on his chest as usual and,

Everything fades, softens. He focuses on the breathing and the snoring and soft rumbling purrs. Focuses on pushing his back into Lance's chest to feel that soft thudding of, of, life. Of Lance being alive.

There's a mumble, tan arm pulls tighter across his waist and Lance gives a smack of his lips before letting loose another snore.

Keith reaches for the tan hand somewhere around his waist, finds it and,

Intertwines their fingers.

And for the first time, he's able to fall back to sleep.  
-  
-  
-  
He puts the key into the motorcycle, turns and flinches at the noise- the jolt. His hand is bone white as he grips the handlebar. He's scared if he lets go he'll fall off, throw himself off as he tries to escape.

But he can't. He can't.

It has been too long, he's stronger than this. He can do this.

He bites his lip, moves his weight around on the motorcycle and to be honest, he kind of forgets.

Forgets how to ride, what it's like. Forgets how to balance. Can foresee the crash from a mile away but-

He can do this. It's only for a short while.

It's not even the noise anymore, unfamiliarity and strangeness pull at him and the fear he's had for so long keeps trying to drown him.

First steps are always the hardest is what Lance has always said. The hardest, but the second you take them you feel the most triumphant, the most brilliant.

This, this is going to be his first step because,

It's been too long. Too long of not mentioning and hiding and what better way to say he's going to be better than use his rotting bike? What better way to prove to himself that he is going to be okay that facing the thing that has haunted him for no damn reason since he got back.

He,

He can do this.

He's gone to war. He can ride a bike. He can ride a bike and go to his boyfriend's house and, and,

The address burns his mind and he thinks,

Soon.

Soon. In a few minutes.

Patience yields focus is what Shiro has been telling him lately. Breathe.

In.

Out.

Soon.

Patience.

He can do this.

And he does, at a snails pace. But he does it.

Maybe later he can try to return back to his younger's break the speed limit pace. But that's later. After. Euphoria still floods him because,

He's turned that key. His bike has actually started. He can give Lance that ride into the sunset that he's always wanted.

It's a possibility now, not another broken promise to drag him down and-

He's at the oh so familiar door. The door he's knocked on so many times, entered so many times. The house that became a second home to him and he feels like it's his first time all over again.

Nerves, how they bite.

He struggles to breathe, wonders if he'll finish his second step because he can't even think about it. Let alone talk about it.

About him, about the boy too young for war. Lance's younger brother.

So, he stood there too long to be natural. Shaky inhale-

Raised his hand-

Gave the softest knock-

Whole body trembling, just barely. Enough for him to know because-

Lance opens the door, drags him in with a smile and a laugh. Eyes twinkle in their darkness and a quick peck to Keith's cheek. Keith takes his first real step, exhales (barely, barely. Wants to bolt, be anywhere but here because suddenly it's too much because how can he-)

There is tea, and coffee too sweet to be natural. And everything is soft and homey and Keith looks up to see the softest of smiles playing on Lance's lips and he remembers the address and the paper and the words and the blood and-

He tells Lance. Everything about the boy too young for war. Only about the boy too young for war.

About boot camp experiences and too much talking and being dropped like stones and weak little arms that could barely do ten pushups. Of orders and being reunited with an old friend. Of someones love for a certain older brother. Of stories shared with laughter ringing in the night sky.

About a bravery Keith never was able to possess. Of fierce actions in a war too nasty to be real. About Lance's wonderful baby brother that Keith tried so hard to save.

That died in Keith's arms, asking one thing from Keith and one thing only.

Lance is crying when he pulls Keith into a hug that's too tight as he whispers the last of his words (I tried, I tried there was just- I'm just- I'm sorry- I tried-) and Keith is pretty sure he's crying too.

But, for the first time,  
The address doesn't burn his mind and Keith?

Keith breathes.


End file.
